


Recoil

by AnnieAnnProps



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual, D/s, Dom/sub, F/F, Gunplay, Handcuffs, NSFW, Powerplay, Smut, seriously though be safe kiddos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieAnnProps/pseuds/AnnieAnnProps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her heart pounds, even with the first bit scripted, she can’t stop the nervous shiver that careens through her mind and down her back. The door shuts and locks behind her, shoes and socks kicked off. Fareeha’s steps, usually assured and confident, now light and flit along the carpet flooring of the flat. To the kitchen where she’ll open the door to the fridge, bend over looking for some imaginary item, and feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle-</p><p>A tug at her utility belt, the cold barrel of her gun on the back of her head.</p><p>And this is where the script ends.</p><p>or</p><p>The set up: Fareeha is police officer and Angela is a first responder/ paramedic (so original i know), it’s set outside of Overwatch, so like, ‘normal’ life AU. In any case, it’s just smut and gunplay and kinks all around. Be safe and enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recoil

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, it's actually one of my dirty little kinks that I love gunplay. Call me a generic American but yeah, it's kinda hot, it being a power thing and all. In any case, this is probably more self indulgent than anything else, hope ya'll enjoy the sin.

Fareeha smooths down the front of her uniform shirt for the fifth time since walking up to irrationally intimidating apartment door. Two weeks of planning and restless anticipation has boiled down to this evening. She takes a breath, going over everything one last time before grasping the knob firmly in her hand.

It’s show time.

Her heart pounds, even with the first bit scripted, she can’t stop the nervous shiver that careens through her mind and down her back. The door shuts and locks behind her, shoes and socks kicked off. Fareeha’s steps, usually assured and confident, now light and flit along the carpet flooring of the flat. To the kitchen where she’ll open the door to the fridge, bend over looking for some imaginary item, and feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle-

A tug at her utility belt, the cold barrel of her gun on the back of her head.

And this is where the script ends.

Adrenaline blasts through her mind along with a healthy dose of sweltering arousal.

“A pleasure to catch you alone, officer.” Fareeha stays stock still, head stuck halfway in the refrigerator; the coldness does nothing to dampen the warmth simmering in her gut.

“To you as well, Dr. Zeigler.”

She winces as the barrel taps sharply against her skull.

“It’s ma’am to you. Understood?” Gone is the usual reassuring everyday tone or even her assertive bedroom voice. This is new; dangerous, dripping with the threat of violence that Fareeha has never heard before.

It would be an understatement to say that she was both impressed and oh so turned on.  

“Yes ma’am.” She says smugly, earning another rap on the head.

“Enough. Right hand, take the handcuffs from your belt and lock them around your wrists.”

Eagerly, Fareeha complies with the order, sliding the cuffs out from their holder, the clinking of the short chain sing through the air. Her fingertips become tingle at the touch of cold metal. The teeth swing around and

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

Lock around her left wrist. And once more around her right. With a sigh and a mind buzzing with giddy apprehension, she awaits the next instruction.

Warm fingers grip tight around the restraints, wrenching out a few more click and leaving the metal pressing tightly against her skin. She is yanked back by the collar of her shirt, forced to remain in a hunched over position as Angela drags her out of the kitchen. The tiles turn back to carpet, through a doorway, into their bedroom that is set a good five degrees colder than the rest of the flat.

It’s all planned, the way that Fareeha’s nipples harden at the change of temperature, straining against the coarse fabric of her uniform shirt.

“On your knees, girl.”

Fareeha is just short of thrown to the floor, her knees striking the thankfully soft carpet. The pistol is finally lifted from her head and Angela steps out in front of her.

Whatever breath Fareeha was taking is interrupted by a sharp flutter of her lungs. Angela is completely naked, Fareeha’s eyes linger on the piercings on her breasts that glint in the light.

She licks her lips, already longing to touch the beautiful woman before her.

“You think you are so smug, officer.” A hand wraps itself around Fareeha’s throat, eliciting a startled noise from her. Angela leans in close, making sure to bring the pistol to level with Fareeha’s gaze before sliding it along her burning skin. “I am in control here, you are my prisoner.”

 _Yes ma’am_ Fareeha answers only mentally, unwilling to say it out loud just yet. The night is young, the scene only beginning; there will be plenty of time to ease into that delicious space in her mind. For now, she looks defiantly into Angela’s eyes, trying not to focus on the circle of freezing steel biting into the soft underside jaw.

“Open.”

She refuses, smirking slightly at the irritated look on Angela’s face. The pistol is raised up and unkindly presses down on her lower lip. It clanks against her clenched teeth.

A bit of fear rises up. Although she knows and has check at least three times that the firearm is completely empty; the sight of it, the thought, the possibility of death sets her insides ablaze with danger.

“Open.”

Fareeha narrows her eyes, continuing to disobey, if not for the sheer thrill; then for her personal pride to see how far she can last against this new game.

In a blink, Angela’s hands slide up, fingers digging into the sensitive pressure points at the sides of her jawbone. Fareeha tries to pull away out of instinct but the movement just serves to prompt Angela to dig the grip in further. A few seconds and the pain is pulsing up the sides of her face, past her ears and jarring her to focus on it.

Angela watches her with an amused smile, enjoying that way Fareeha squirms and struggles against the hold. Again, she presses the the pistol harder, sinks the fingertips in deeper, whispering close to Fareeha’s face.

“ _Open”_

Finally, after one more second, Fareeha’s teeth part and the hand release slightly. A groan of relief vibrates across the barrel and into Angela’s hand. Almost gently, the pistol eases past her lips, sliding across her teeth and pressing her tongue down. It forces her mouth wider, the girth of it larger than what she anticipated. The rounded corners are an awkward shape for her lips to conform to. It isn’t long until drool starts to pool and trickle out the side of her lips.

Fareeha keeps her eyes locked on Angela’s in silent defiance as she works against the strain. Wider still, the front sights scraping dully against the roof of her mouth. Until the trigger guard comes to a rest on her teeth and the barrel is just beginning to tickle the back of her throat. An ache in her jaw quickly sets in as Angela simply hold the pistol there.

She runs her tongue along the underside of the barrel, fully aware that Angela cannot feel the ministrations but she could surely see the movement. The way Fareeha leans forward slightly, taken just a hair more of the barrel into her mouth; how her throat tightens to stop the intruder from going any further. Fareeha moans softly, causing Angela to draw a deeper breath at the sight.

Fingers move, the safety flicks to ‘off’.

The fear is intoxicating, something that has them both wrestling to not get lost in this single moment. That little inkling that it could all go wrong, no matter how much they prepared. Something akin to their line of work perhaps. The power of ending a life when she works day in and day out to save them. The sweet surrender of power that she uses to keep order.

Breathless, beautiful, baring their beating hearts.

Fareeha grips the metal with her teeth, the smooth surface now warm and slick with her spit. Eyes never leaving and never backing down.

Angela squeezes the trigger ever so slowly.

A resounding click.

Empty

Recoil

Though no physical bullet has been fired, there is a moment that Fareeha and Angela flinch slightly at the sound and share a drawn-out sigh.

Her heartbeats are deafening in her ears as she relaxes her teeth from around the pistol, the corners of her lips curling up the best they can as stretched as they are. Soaring, like she just defeated death, she bobs her head once along the length of the gun; a challenge to Angela.

The gun is pulled back abruptly, the edge of the front sight catching painfully on the back of her teeth. With a lewd ‘pop’ it leaves her mouth, leaving a string of saliva that snaps back onto Fareeha’s chin. The black metal glistens in the bedroom light.

“Such a cocky girl.” Angela holds the wet barrel to the bottom of Fareeha’s chin, forcing her face to tilt up and expose her throat.

Chest heaving, body still tingling with the high. Her officer uniform feels too tight for her body, too hot despite the coldness of the room. She just wants to be touched and feel Angela’s fingers-

Fareeha screws her eyes shut with a shudder and a gasp. Nails scrape down, stopping at the collar of her shirt and making quick work with undoing them; lower and lower and finally untucking them from her pants. The nails trail up and down, applying just enough pressure to leave Fareeha wanting more. She lets out a low groan when the hand veers left and roughly palms her breast.

“Tell me who you belong to, officer.” Angela eases her back with gentle push.

Her head is still tilted up, gaze locked on the blank white ceiling. Finger pinch and roll her achingly stiff nipple, coaxing out whimpers but nothing more. Further and further Angela pushes until Fareeha has to shift her weight onto her ass and brace herself with her cuffed hands. Again she is reminded of how tightly they are secured around her wrists with every pulse of her heart throbbing against the metal.

Angela leans into her view, face ever so confident and smug. She hums as her hand switches to the other breast, treating it with the same harshness.

A sudden pressure bullies its way between Fareeha’s legs, urging them apart with a few firm nudges. Her entire body is tight, forced to hold the position as the foot pushes her thighs wider apart. It isn’t until Fareeha’s body is trembling at the effort does Angela seem satisfied with the spread of her legs.

Taking a moment to drink in the sight below her, Angela plays with the locks of hair encased in their signature golden adornments. Through half lidded eyes Fareeha stares back up at her, the fire of defiance still burning away behind the haze of lust. Her mouth is slightly open, panting and the occasionally swallow that jostles the gun held against her throat. The black police uniform hangs open like a curtain framing the taut muscles beneath and flexing abs that are unwillingly sustaining the difficult stance.

And the delightful noise that is torn from Fareeha’s lips when Angela brings the ball of her foot to rest on her sex.

“Who do you belong to, dear?”

Fareeha’s mind has been thrown into overdrive. Her muscles are screaming for the chance to relax while the weight on her crotch grows increasingly heavier by the second. Unmoving, unable to rub up and give herself the friction she so desperately wants.

“Y-you.”

The foot presses down even harder, a hand gripping the back of her head. Angela bends over, bringing her face right up to Fareeha’s. She gasps, unable to keep eye contact as the foot continues to bear down. Angela’s breath is hot against her face, everything becomes still, unrelenting, and demanding her complete submission.  

“Try again.”

Her mind is already slipping deep into it.

“You, I belong to you, ma’am!” Fareeha gasps out, trying to bring her hips up with the fresh wave of arousal crests over her when the words are forced from her lips.

And just like that, the foot is lifted and the gun tossed aside. Warm lips seal over hers, a battle of dominance that is short lived when the grip on the back of Fareeha’s head tightens. Her mouth snaps open with a gasp of pain, Angela’s tongue delves in, doing whatever she pleases.

She pulls away, admiring how nicely her red lipstick looks smeared across Fareeha’s swollen lips.

“That’s right, officer, you belong to me and only me.”

Angela guides her by the back of the neck, allowing Fareeha to set the pace of awkwardly trying to shuffle on her knees. They settle at the side of the bed, Angela seating herself and pulling Fareeha in between her legs.

Her mouth is already watering as Angela brings her forward and to her dripping slit. The musk lingers in her nose and coats her tongue with a heady taste. She sweeps broad strokes all along the lips and stiff clit. Fareeha knows the tricks, how to draw halos around the bud to tease out delightful high-pitched sighs from Angela.

With lips sealed around her clit, Fareeha hums every so often; feeling a bit of pride when Angela tenses up each time she does so. Her tongue works tirelessly, driven by the desire to please her, to hear Angela cry her name and feel her thighs tighten around her face. Knowing that she is the one making Angela become beautifully undone.

Faster she licks along her slit, swirling one, two, three times around her clit. Feeling the second hand join the first in the death grip in her hair. Angela doubles over, panting and muttering strings of German under her breath. Fareeha can pick out a few breathless words here and there.

_Mein Liebling_

_Schöne (beautiful)_

_Härter (Harder)_

In the final moments, Fareeha glances up, locking with the blue eyes that stare down at her. It’s a strain on her eyes to look up at such an angle, but she knows how much Angela loves it; for her, whatever it takes.

At one particularly solid suck at her clit, Angela presses Fareeha tight against her sex, her entire body trembling as the orgasm washes over her.

“Fareeha!”

Gently, Fareeha eases down the pace, the strokes becoming softer and slower; eventually giving way to fluttering kisses along Angela’s inner thighs and mound. It takes a moment for Angela to untangle her fingers from Fareeha’s hair, chest heaving for gulps of air.

Fareeha can’t help the smug smirk that tugs at her lips when Angela is finally able to catch her breath. For just a second, one exchange, the scene falls away and Angela looks down at Fareeha with eyes so full of affection and a smile and she cannot help but mirror.

“Good girl.”

_I love you_

“Thank you, ma’am.”

_I love you, too_

By the corners of her open shirt, Angela pulls Fareeha up and stands with her. Their lips brush for a chaste kiss, a check-in, a small nod. The scene proceeds.

Taken by surprise, Fareeha’s back collides with the mattress, slightly dazed from going from a tender kiss to Angela looming over her with a wicked look. Hands drag themselves across her abs, once more claiming her nipples in their ruthless grasps. Fareeha throws her head to the side, groaning harshly as the pain stokes the bonfire raging in her gut.

The coldness of the room no longer bothers her, not with those torturous hands on her skin and cruel teeth biting at her neck and shoulder. Each nip harder than the last, wrenching moan after choking moan from her lungs.

It hurts so much but it makes her feel so very alive.

And then the hands wander away, skimming over the bunches of muscles. The heel of one presses sharply against her throbbing sex, the other taking its time to undo her belt. Fareeha’s hips buck up to meet the new pressure. Angela replies by pressing down even harder, effectively pinning her hips to the bed.

A whimper.

“You want this bad, don’t you girl?”

“Yes,” the rest is lost in a urgent gasp as fingers finally shove down her open fly. She can’t move, can’t breath, helpless with Angela drawing teasingly light circles around her achingly stiff bud.

“Yes, ma’am. Please.”

Fareeha can barely manage a whisper. Her entire body is alight, nerves tingling and oh lord does she want to come so badly. But there is nothing she can do but writhe and squirm as Angela sets whatever pace she damn pleases.

Her arms strains against the biting metal of the cuffs, wishing she could just take Angela’s hand in her own and bring herself to climax. What more does she want, anything, she’ll do anything.

Stop _teasing._

“Please, please, please,” she no longer cares about the game, her mind blissfully numb and floating on a cloud of its own. Fareeha stares down, pupils blown, jaw slack and begging for release.

Angela easily slips a finger in and curls it just right to make Fareeha see stars.

“You are mine.” Teeth claim her ear, the sensations building up and tangling up with each other.

Higher and higher

“Yes, shit, all yours-!”

A second finger, a strangled cry.

“I am yours Angela.”

Breathless, full of glowing emotion.

A third finger, so full, stretching. Thrusting in and out with ruthless precision that turns Fareeha into a sputtering mess.

Her back arches off the mattress, her hands twisting the sheets. So close. Every fiber of her pulls tight. Angela’s thumb paws at her clit.

“Angela, fuck, _Angela.”_

Her eyes scrunched shut, mouth agape with moans tumbling out. She can feel Angela’s face next to hers.

“Come for me, Fareeha.”

The command tips the scale and finally sends her over the edge with a shout that gets sealed beneath Angela’s lips. Fareeha can’t even focus on her hips much less the waltz of a kiss. But it doesn’t matter with Angela humming away at her mouth, hands tapering down the pace. Her eyes crack open and lock with the half lidded gaze of Angela.

It takes a minute for Fareeha’s jerks to still and Angela’s fingers to gently slide out of her drenched slit. Another minute and a bit of finagling for the handcuffs to fall away and tender kisses to smooth over the angry red marks around her wrists.

Eventually, all clothing is kicked off into a pile on the floor for the morning to deal with. The covers are pulled up and Fareeha holds Angela lovingly in her arms. Their heartbeats find a rhythm together, sweet exhaustion trickling into their minds. Angela checks over Fareeha’s wrists one last time, lightly rubbing away the soreness.

“I hope I did not hurt you too badly.” She murmurs.

“Nonsense, you were wonderful, tonight was wonderful.” Fareeha presses her lips to Angela’s forehead, pulling her into her chest a little bit more.

A minute later and blissful sleep fills in the gap between their bodies.


End file.
